


Drink to Regret

by Lightspeed



Series: Monstrous Intent [42]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: (but not really because it's a misunderstanding), Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Angst, Drinking, Dullahan - Freeform, Dullahan Soldier, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Making Up, Post-Break Up, Snowed In, The Teams Are Different, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:20:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: RED Demoman and BLU Soldier have met a few times at their tiny hunting cabin at Coldfront.  Each time, it's a quiet, contemplative encounter, passing a bottle and sharing very few words.  A sudden snowstorm doesn't seem to be letting up, and now, they're faced with an extended stay.  It and the rum are just enough to loosen tongues, and get them talking again.  And that's a start.





	Drink to Regret

**Author's Note:**

> How do people even write slow burn? I have no patience! You people are sorcerers! So, quick burn I guess lol

How had he ended up here?

Soldier stared into the fireplace, the dancing flames providing the only light in the small mountain shack that he and the RED team's Demoman now shared. It was only supposed to be an hour or two, minimal conversation, and a bottle of rum.

That's how it had been since it started, just a handful of times now. Sometimes whiskey, once vodka. Always mostly-silent, always sitting on opposing sides of the threadbare couch, always huddled in front of the fire with a pair of old blankets wrapped around themselves, passing a bottle back and forth and trying to pretend they didn't taste the other man's saliva on the glass. Trying to tell themselves they didn't miss that taste.

It should have been all that, and nothing more. But then the winds began to howl, and the snow began to cake on the windows and blot out the forest, surrounding them in screaming, freezing white. The cold seeped through every crack in the rickety old cabin, and both men found themselves glad for the ample supply of dry wood they had both been sure to take turns restocking as a wordless agreement. It was their way of promising to meet again, but without so much thought to the actual idea of it.

The blizzard had arrived swiftly, making the roof creak and the windows rattle, and leaving a scowl on the face of each man.

It had been routine, the way they had met. The way they had acted, drank, thought, and when finally the pregnant silence became too gravid with unsaid words, unacknowledged emotion, they would finish the bottle and nod their silent goodbyes before emerging onto the snowy mountain to go their separate ways and let the cold freeze the tears before they could be shed.

Now there was no escape, no easy egress when quiet pondering turned down the road it invariably would. The road that told each man this was a terrible idea. The road that told them they wanted this so badly. The road that wended through swamps of regret and deserts of need, leaving them sitting alone, together, neither willing to actually bridge the gap between them.

Neither wanted to have the first word. Neither wanted to surrender. The War was over, but the tensions had never truly ceased.

It was certainly tense, in that tiny cabin in the middle of a snowstorm.

Soldier sighed and pitched the butt of his cigar into the fire. He knew exactly how he'd ended up here. And why. Because he couldn't let things go, or leave well enough alone. Because was so godsdamned lonely and missed this drunk bastard so godsdamned much that sitting alone together in a shitty shack in the middle of a blizzard with lovelorn hatred hanging heavy in the air between them was better than not being with him at all. What a sap he'd become.

Soldier took another pull off of the bottle of rum. It was quality stuff. Demoman had made a habit of bringing good liquor to these meetings. He'd tried to match, but he never kept the kind of stash Demoman always did, especially not at Coldfront, where non-Mann Co. goods were hard to come by. He'd settled for bringing a cigar or two for each of them. It was his one vice in which he prized quality.

He wondered if Demoman was trying to impress him with the booze as much as he was trying with the cigars.

It was working.

When the bottle was nearly empty, Soldier offered Demoman the last slug of it.

“Thanks, mate,” came the bomber's reply, forgetting himself, wincing immediately upon realizing.

Soldier waved him off, trying to ignore the slip. “It's cold enough you should at least feel warm while you freeze to death,” he grumbled, pulling his blanket tighter. The cold was irritating, and uncomfortable, but the dullahan was painfully aware that he was not the one in danger from the cold. Even if he was shivering a little.

“Speak for yerself,” Demoman said, then kicked back the last draught of rum. “We've a fire, and plenty wood. Should be fine at least through the night.”

“The night,” Soldier echoed, chewing on that thought.

“Aye. If the wind doesnae let up soon, we're like to be stranded. Snow's workable. Not bein' gusted off the bloody mountainside isn't.”

Soldier grunted in agreement, pursing his lips. He shouldn't have come. He should have stopped this when he realized how much it hurt. Or at least checked to see if there was going to be a goddamn blizzard in the coming hours. Now he was stuck in a tiny, freezing shack with his ex, drinking together like this wasn't a terrible idea. “Too much snow on the roof will collapse this building,” he said, as if to distract himself with facts.

“Dinnae think the wind'll let it settle. Walls'll be caked, though.” Demoman turned from the fire, his eye reflecting the orange light in a way that made Soldier furious at how damned handsome the bastard was. He set down the empty bottle he was holding, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He breathed in deeply and scrubbed at his face with his hands.

It was a motion Soldier knew well. Once, he'd asked the Scot why he tended to do that when he was drinking. Demoman had explained that alcohol made his face and chest feel tense, like his skin was half a size too small for him, and it made his lips feel numb and his jaw tingle. It was a sensation he hated, that he wished he could just rub away, and touching his face helped it feel less wrong.

“Face numb?” he asked, blurting it out before he could catch himself.

Demoman stretched his jaw and looked up at Soldier, then pointedly cast his eye to the floor. “Aye. Feels so bloody tight. The only bad thing about the drink.”

Soldier hummed at that, “Not the only bad thing.”

“Got me there.” Demoman chuckled softly, the slight uptick of a rueful smile settling into a frown on his face. “The drink's supposed tae kill it all. But it ends up leavin' me feelin' as tense and numb outside as in,” he murmured, swaying a bit as he leaned. “Bloody good joke.”  
“Poison's poison,” Soldier said, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “Only makes you feel good so it can kill you without you realizing it. Like a damn spy that way.”

That brought another smirk to Demoman's lips. “Spy makin' you feel good?”

A chuckle shook Soldier's shoulders. “I'm one of only half the team he _isn't_ making feel good.”

“Half the team?” Demoman whistled and sat up. “ Feckin' hell, ye lot do get 'round, don't ye?”

“Some more than others,” Soldier shrugged.

That had Demoman's interest piqued. He turned, slinging a leg up onto the couch, bent to keep the personal space bubble between them, and leaned back against the arm to face Soldier. “Some more than others?”

“There is not a man on our team who hasn't fucked Scout,” Soldier said plainly. “Sniper's a big ol' whore too.”

If Demoman had been drinking, he would have spit it out. “Ye've all fucked yer Scout? Even...?”

“Even...what?”

“Even...ye ken.”

Soldier stared blankly from under the rim of his helmet.

“Yer Spy?”

“Of course,” Soldier replied with confusion. “Spy is almost as much a slut as Sniper.”

“And ye're all just  _fine_ with that?!”

Soldier reeled back a little, surprised. “What? I guess it's a little weird, since your Spy is dating Scout's mother, but—”

“Dating his—WHAT ABOUT THE FACT THAT THEY'RE BLOODY FATHER AND SON?!” Demoman hollered, lurching forward into Soldier's personal space, spittle clinging to his lips and threatening to fly.

“Father and son?”  Soldier echoed, off-balance. “Your Spy and Scout are?”

“Everybody on the team knows! Scout won't amit it, but... Aren't yours?”

Soldier frowned for a long moment, trying to process the information he'd been presented with, along with what he knew of his teammates, all amid the slurry of alcohol in his undead system. “ That is not possible .”  
“ How ?!”

“Spy  isn't human, and until last summer, Scout was  human .  He would have been born only half-human . Plus Spy  isn't the kind of guy to fuck his own son. He's a monster, not a  _monster_ .”

“Nae...human?” Demoman sat back, looking utterly lost.  There were even more differences between their teams than he'd thought. He pushed his jaw forward,  looking back  to the fire for a moment.  Silence punctuated by the crackling of  burning wood filled the room for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Demoman looked back to Soldier. “ Yer team  _is_ fulla monsters, then.”

“The team was mostly humans at the start,” Soldier dodged, trying to hide his eyes behind his helmet. “Some of them were monsters, but there were humans at first. Medic, Scout, Sniper, Engie...”

“Ye,” Demoman added, drawing up his other leg to sit cross-legged on the couch, curling into himself.

Soldier didn't respond.

“The other Demoman, is he...?”

“Yes. But he doesn't like us telling people.”

“Bloody magic and monsters. This is a war over gravel, nae some sorcerer's duel. How're we supposed tae fight that?”

“Our superiors keep us on a tight leash. Something about attracting attention.”

“That's a laugh. Didnae keep that wizard on a leash when he sent me haunted eye after us on Halloween!”

“Merasmus is a jerk.”  
“I'll bloody say.” Demoman chuckled, leaning back a bit. “Ye ken after ye moved out, our Soldier moved intae his place? I'm thinkin' he likes the eye candy. Ye soldiers have a propensity for nudity.”

Soldier smirked at that. Demoman, of all people, knew intimately how much Soldier enjoyed doing things in the nude. Sleeping, fucking, fighting. “I don't think he's interested like that. Except for looking.”

“Everyone has their ways,” the bomber shrugged. He looked to the fire, which was beginning to die down. If he let his eye linger on the broad American any longer, he'd remember all the times he'd spent looking.

Following Demoman's line of sight, Soldier heaved himself to his feet and got some more logs. The whole shack was creaking loudly as the wind howled outside. It sounded like nature was itching for a fight. As he stooped to pick up the split pieces of wood, a horrible roar echoed through the mountains, louder even than the gale pummeling the old cabin. “You hear that?”

“Aye,” Demoman mused, his head sinking back as a short bout of boneless relaxation settled over him. “I've been doin' me research, cooped up in the base. Me library I haul around does me good. Methinks that—” he pointed in the general direction the sound had come from, “was the cry of none other than a yeti.”  
“A yeti?”

“Aye. They're endangered, near extinction. Not sure whether it's sad tae say or no. They're dangerous, vicious bastards, but they're smart. Smarter'n bigfoot and his sasquatch like. Nae match for monster hunters and big game hunters, though.”

“ You think there's one up here,” Soldier said, bringing the logs over and setting them carefully in the fireplace.

“I'm sure o' it. Unsure how many, but at least one, and that's bound tae be his call.” Demoman sat up again, looking to Soldier. “I'd love tae hunt the bastard meself.”

“What's stopping you?”

“This great blizzard. And it's just nae sportin' tae hunt down a creature what's dyin' off on its own. Least until it's the last o' its kind. Even then, a fair fight'd be in order.”

“Only sporting,” Soldier shrugged. He tried not to think about whether he'd grant the same fairness to an undead creature.

“A fight's nae a fight if ye both're nae in it. That's nae fightin'; that's killin'.” Demoman sniffed. “And I prefer to be paid for me killin'.”

Soldier chuckled at that.

With a long sigh, Demoman sat up, leveling his gaze on Soldier as he sat back down. “Are we both in it?”  
“What?”

“A fight's nae a fight if ye both're nae in it.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment.

“Tav.”

“I'm bloody sick o' this,” Demoman rejoined, pounding his fist atop the back of the couch. “What're we doin' here, Jane?”

“You invited me.”

“Aye! And now I dinnae ken if I regret it or nae! I dinnae ken why I even did it!”

Demoman's eye was glistening in the low light. Soldier knew that look well. The drink always brought up all of the negative emotions the Scot tried so hard to keep tamped down. He hated seeing Demoman cry, even if sometimes it was exactly what he needed.

Drawing himself up, Soldier pulled his helmet off and set it on the floor, looking at the other man with unshielded eyes. He suddenly felt so naked, so vulnerable. And his head was cold. “For the same reason I took the invitation.”

“Ye betrayed me.”

“You betrayed me.”

Sniffing, trying to hold onto the last vestiges of his composure, Demoman slouched forward. “Y'think that makes us even?”

“Do you?”

“I think we were both played. Punished for violatin' company rules on both sides.”

“Here we are,” Soldier shrugged, a broad sweep of his arm motioning to the room, to the couch, to the empty bottle sitting on the floor. “We're doing the same thing. Again.”

Demoman chuckled at that. “We are.”

Shifting to face the fire, Soldier settled his blanket around his shoulders, then lifted an arm, an invitation. It was one readily received, Demoman scooting across the couch to cleave to the shorter man's side, spreading his own blanket over his and Soldier's legs. Warmth soaked into the dullahan, a familiarity so long removed from him that it almost hurt now that the Scot was back at his side. He wrapped his arm around Demoman's shoulders and tugged him over to lay against him. He snatched his helmet up and popped it back onto his head, lifting the rim enough to let him stare at the fire.

“We're going to be stuck here a while. Might be sleeping on this couch tonight. We should keep warm,” Soldier said, a softness in his tone.

With a soft sigh, Demoman nodded.

Things weren't all better. Not by a margin. They might never really be. He knew better than to think that they could just go back to the way things were before. But this? This was a step in the right direction.


End file.
